


Fucking Disaster, Fucking Fantastic

by lumbeam



Series: Yank on my Yankton [1]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Unrequited Love, Voyeurism, can you tell i live in the midwest, surrogate sexual partner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4907617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumbeam/pseuds/lumbeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An account of Trevor's voyeuristic escapades of living vicariously through Michael's hookups. Set in the North Yankton days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fucking Disaster, Fucking Fantastic

**Author's Note:**

> So this is based on a head canon that I have about Trevor's feelings towards Michael pre-2004. As much as I ship the two of them, I think of their dynamic as more of a one-sided attraction, so I tried to make it a more voyeuristic take rather than have Trevor pine after Michael (not that there's anything wrong with pining fic!). Enjoy!

All small midwestern towns are the same. There’s always one bar, no clubs, convenience stores abound, and one sad discount clothing store as the icing on the depressing cake. The rust belt is in full force everywhere they go. Michael and Trevor were laying low in this town, as they had just robbed a convenience store from the town about 15 miles over. There was nothing quite like the rush of running away from the law, an adrenaline that not even drugs could match. They have been on the run like this all around the midwest for a couple years. They stop at a gas station on the way, when they feel that the cops aren’t after them.  

“Think we lost ‘em?” Michael asks, his face basking in the neon glow of the gas station lights. Trevor just nods, his hands still gripping the wheel. Michael puts on his coat and gets out of the car. “Think I’ll go get some beer. Need anything?” Michael asks before he shuts the car door. Trevor shakes his head, not looking over at him. This was just another minor score, and even as they were outrunning the cops, Michael was thinking about how to celebrate. He wasn’t sure if he could even celebrate in a town like this, being that the population barely broke 300, but he sure as fuck was going to try.

Michael leaves the gas station after picking up a 12 pack. It was cheap beer, but it’ll get the job done in terms of getting drunk. When Trevor sees what Michael bought, he twists up his face and groans. “Fuck Mikey, a pack of _Natty_ _Lite?_ What are you, a fuckin’ frat boy?” 

Michael sighs as he gets in the car. “T, there wasn't really much of a selection. And you’ll drink it anyway, so…”

Trevor groans even louder, twisting his hands on the steering wheel. He starts up the car and speeds onto the road. 

“Jesus, T! It’s amazing you even got your license!” Michael says, gripping onto the dashboard with one hand and the other hand cradling the shitty beer. “What’s your problem?”

“My _problem_ ,” Trevor growls, not taking his eyes off the road, “is that you buy the worst kind of beer in this godforsaken earth as a _celebration drink_? Like we’re going to some rager after winning a football game? Y’know just because this town is depressing as fuck, it doesn’t mean we have to be.” 

“ _Fine_ , T, I get your point. how do _you_ want to spend the night?”

A voice in the back of Trevor’s mind says, “ _By having you fuck me in the back of whatever seedy alleyway there is in this shithole town_ ,” but he bites his tongue. Michael doesn’t know about Trevor’s feelings towards him. In order to not throw off the balance of their dynamic or make Michael feel weird, Trevor has only shown that he’s a total 1 on the kinsey scale. Recently, Trevor’s feelings toward Michael have only gotten stronger. The more scores they do, the more this feeling intensifies. The more the feeling intensifies, the more trigger-happy and irritable Trevor gets. The more irritable Trevor gets, the more he pushes Michael away. In other words, Trevor’s situation is a fucking disaster. 

Instead of telling him his desired plans for the night, he shrugs. “Wanna go to a bar? I don’t think I saw any skin joints in this town, fortunately _and_ unfortunately. Y’never know what kind of person qualifies as beautiful in this place…”

Michael chuckles lightly and cracks open a beer. He paid for it, so he might as well drink it. “Good point.”

———————

The bar is much like the rest of the town: sad. Country music of yesteryear drones on in the background, and the bar is filled with lost souls and blue collar folk. A few passable women are in the bar, Michael notes, but Trevor pays no mind to them and heads straight for the bartender. he decides on a drink that’ll get him fucked up the fastest. “Your finest whiskey, please!” he cheerfully notes, and the sad middle-aged man behind the bar wordlessly pours him a glass. "Hope I never get like that…” Trevor thinks, eyeballing the man’s balding head and portly physique. Trevor gulps down the whiskey, stinging his throat all the way down, and the bartender fills it up almost immediately. 

Trevor turns his back on the bar and looks out for Michael. Naturally, Michael had gravitated toward the one semi-good looking woman in this town. She’s young, probably about early twenties, and her blonde hair is mangled and unbrushed. It’s not that she’s a homely girl, but she’s beautiful in a _midwestern_ sense. She’s pale and short, pretty much the opposite of what you would see in blockbuster Los Santos movies that Michael was always forcing him to watch. She has smokey eyes, and she’s in a tight red dress, something Trevor would probably pass up on (he’s more into sundresses than clubbing clothes). 

Michael is working his charm by brushing her ratty hair behind her ear. He can see her blush at the gesture. A bitter taste fills Trevor’s mouth. He’s seen Michael with plenty of women before, but for some reason he feels as if this night has just taken a turn for the worse. Why couldn’t Trevor have just been complacent with drinking shitty beer in a seedy hotel room?

Trevor strides over to the table where Michael and the girl are sitting. By the time he gets to the table, his second glass of whiskey is pretty much gone. Ah well. 

“Well well _welllllll_ ,” Trevor drawls, the whiskey slowly soaking through his body, “What do we have _heeeeere_?”

Michael seems a bit taken aback. “Ah, well, Christine, this is Trevor. Trevor, Christine.” Trevor holds out his hand, but she doesn’t shake it. He retracts his hand after a beat.

“Nice to meet you.” She replies quietly, her voice practically swallowed up by the clinks and clatters of the bar.

“Hello there, darrrrling,” Trevor smirks, making her sink back in her seat even more. “What brings you in this hellhole?”

“Well,I—“

“Christine here is in college,” Michael cuts in, pointedly stating that she is not a call girl. Or maybe it’s a front, not that Trevor really cares. “OU, right sweetheart?”  
  
“…Yeah, of course. Journalism.” She weakly smiles.

“Oh, _really_?” Trevor decides to have a little fun with her. “Y’hear about any news lately in this town or anywhere near it? I can’t imagine there’s much news other than ‘Local Hick Kills Self’ or ‘Miss Mary Gets A New Horse.’”

“Well, I heard about a robbery over in —” Christine mutters. Michael freezes up.

“Terrible! What a _terrible_ mark upon society, Christie! I wonder what those heathens are up to now! Who knows where they could be at this time of night?” Trevor glances over at Michael, who is staring daggers back at him.

“Yes, Trevor, what a terrible thought.” Michael says through gritted teeth. Christine audibly gulps.

“M, ain’t you worried about staying out so late when there are murderous hoodlums out and about in this fine town? Shouldn’t we be getting back to our humble abode?”

“Nah, T, I ain’t too worried at all. ‘Sides, I was a quarterback in high school, so I know a thing or two about taking people out.” He wraps one of his strong arms around Christine and starts to stroke her arm. She practically melts into his side. Trevor resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“All right, suit yourself.” He drinks the last spit of his whiskey. “Don’t come cryin’ to me when you’re hacked to pieces!” he calls out. 

As he walks back to the bar, Trevor can hear Christine ask Michael in a panicked tone, “Do you think we could actually get killed?”

“If only.” Trevor mutters to himself. He orders one more whiskey, downs it, and heads off to their motel down the road.

———————

The motel room hasn't been updated since about 1962. Everything is falling apart, wood paneling, pathetic Bob Ross-style paintings, and two lumpy twin sized beds with an itchy wool blanket. Unfortunately, this hotel room is standard in terms of what they normally sleep in. Since it’s just for a night, there is no need to spend their score on luxury. Luxury comes later. 

Trevor throws his coat on the floor and lays on the slightly less lumpy looking bed. It’s good enough for him, he decides, especially in his drunken state. For a while, he just sort of lays there, staring at the water-damaged drop ceilings that seemed to open up into the abyss. He absentmindedly searches his pockets and finds his glass pipe. After packing it with some leftover weed he had in his coat pocket, he sits up on the bed and lights his pipe. The pungent air creeps through his lungs, knocking him out of the abyss and back into the four wood paneled walls of the depressing hotel room. White smoke billows out of his lips like a ship departing to the sea. Finally, Trevor feels like himself. 

He flips on the television, but only infomercials and scrambled soap operas are available. For a while he fights with the TV’s bunny ears, which eventually leads to him throwing them across the room, leaving the bright “snow” of the television to illuminate his surroundings. He takes another hit. He waits for Michael.

After what seemingly took years, the lock on the door turns. Trevor hears laughter from the two of them paired with sloppy kissing sounds and light moans. Without ceremony, Michael bursts through the door with Christine pressing against him. He kisses her fervently as he stumbles into the room. His eyes freeze with Trevor’s gaze and he breaks the kiss. “Oh, T, I didn’t know you’d be back here.” Christine’s lipstick is spread all over Michael’s lips. Trevor clenches his jaw. 

“Where the fuck else would I be?” Trevor growls back at him.

“Ah, I don’t know,” Michael says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Off trying to find something _fun_ to do?” 

“Sorry to say M, but it looks like you found the only thing fun to do here.” Trevor directs his eyes over to Christine, who is turning the same color has her dress. 

“T, come on—“ 

“What, you don’t want to just lay low and celebrate with your buddy tonight?” if Trevor were sober, he would try to sound much less jealous.  
“…Celebrate? For what?” Christine asks meekly, her skintone back to its usual pallor. 

A smirk spreads across Trevor’s face. "Well, _Chris-teeen_ , Mikey and I here just ran into a bit of cash recently—“

“—through gambling! T and I are big gamblers!” Michael chimes in before Trevor could continue and ruin the ruse he put on for Christine. He lies about it a bit too easily.

“If you want to call it that…” Trevor says lowly.

Michael pulls Christine closer to his side. “However you want to call it, Christine n’ I are just going to get our own room. We need the _privacy_.” Michael’s hand moves its way down to Christine’s lower back. Trevor never breaks eye contact with Michael. It’s almost as if he’s dangling Christine in front of him. It’s Michael’s way of saying, “She’s my prize for the night, _not you._ ” Trevor clenches his jaw.

“Have fun… _Mikey_.” Trevor drawls. He takes another hit as Michael turns and shuts the door. Once again, Trevor is alone. For a while, he paces back and forth in the hotel room, the snow of the TV serving as the only light.

He hears the sound of heavy footsteps outside a few minutes later. Along with the heavy footsteps are the _clack-clack-clack_ of high heels. _Mikey and Christine_. They pass Trevor’s motel room and open up the next room. 

Curious, Trevor climbs onto the bed and presses his ear against the wall. Luckily, the walls were paper thin. It wouldn’t surprise Trevor one bit that if he presses too hard up against the wall, he’d collapse right through to the next room. He hears dampened footsteps, and Michael’s muffled voice say, “Sorry about my friend, gorgeous. He gets like this when I have someone as beautiful as you on my arm.” Trevor rolls his eyes. If that’s what Mikey wants to delude himself into thinking _this_ is, then so be it. 

“Oh, it’s okay.I’ve become desensitized to it.” So…Christine is a call girl? Or maybe she’s a call girl who is also a college student? Or just a regular college-aged girl that’s used to weird men? Whoever she is, she’s just another woman to Michael. Another hole. Another notch in the bed post. 

“So…where were we?” Trevor practically _hears_ the shit eating grin on Michael’s face. 

There is a chuckle, and then the sound of sloppy kisses. Trevor imagines how her lipstick is rubbing off even further onto his thin lips. He’s seen how he kisses other women; it’s as if he’s trying to eat them whole. Everything about Michael is greedy. He acts as though the entire world is his to own on a shitty silver platter. Every dollar, every woman, every line of coke — all of it is for him. Trevor imagines Michael’s grabby hands roaming all over her curvaceous body. His hands probably slip up her skirt. He’s probably starting to rub her clit through her underwear.

The sound of kissing stops and he hears soft moans. “You like that?” Michael says. 

There’s a laugh. “Yeah,” Christine moans. It’s amazing how easy it is to guess Mike’s maneuvers. He’s so… _rote. S_ o _boring_. There are more kisses, more moans. A rustling of the covers or perhaps clothes. Mike’s heavy corduroy jacket hitting the ground. Another soft gasp from Christine.

Trevor closes his eyes and imagines being a fly on the wall in their motel room. He imagines Michael laying over top of Christine, rubbing slow circles over her panties. Then he kisses her neck, saying how good she looks in that tight dress, how hard she makes him. His hands roam all over her body before eventually moving back to her cock…

…Wait. 

Trevor opens his eyes. Somewhere in his imaginings, he started rubbing himself over his jeans. Trevor, not exactly one for embarrassment, slips off his tattered acid wash jeans and kicks them off the bed. “Might as well make an event of it…” he says to himself. Before returning to his fantasy, he takes his pipe off the end table. The bowl is pretty much cashed, but he breaks up the remaining weed in the bowl with his lighter. After taking a final drag, he holds in the smoke until he relaxes back to where he was before. He exhales a huge puff of smoke, and his hands go back to rubbing himself over his underwear.

Michael and Christine seem to have progressed to third base. At least, that’s what it would be as long Michael actually paces himself instead of rushing straight to the fucking. Trevor could hear Christine’s soft moans. Michael’s moans were muffled, although probably more so because his face was buried between her thighs.

Trevor groans. He shuts his eyes really tight and imagines Michael’s big steak of a face in-between his thighs. His stupid, chiseled face kissing Trevor’s scarred, slender body. His thin lips wrapped around his cock. He wonders if he’d be good at sucking cock. Trevor grins to himself. He imagines Michael’s smug mouth being filled up. He probably would be timid at first, but eventually his greedy fucking mouth would take every inch, right down to the base. Trevor takes off his ratty underwear, freeing his cock at last. He gives it a few tugs. Christine’s moans are getting louder, and Trevor goes back to thinking about what’s happening. He lets a few moans escape his lips.

Christine’s dress is probably pulled up past her curvaceous hips, with Michael eating her out with increasing fervor. moans are escaping from her lips, panting, ragged. He’s probably undressed too, one of his hands holding her creamy thigh with the other stroking his cock. His thick, possibly uncut cock…

_Fuck! Think about the two of them! Don’t get so distracted!_

Right as Trevor’s mind strayed from the situation, he heard Christine’s moans reach a peak. “ _Fuck,_ Michael! _Ahhh, ohhh_!” Christine practically yelled. Trevor tugs at his cock a bit more. Her breathing is labored, as labored as Michael’s is. Trevor is completely hard now.

“Do you mind returning the favor?” Michael asks after her breathing returns to normal, only to be nice. Trevor assumes that she said she doesn’t mind, because he hears their bed rustle. He’s probably standing over her, continuing to stroke his cock until he eventually relinquishes it over to her. Trevor would kill to be in Christine’s position, and he’s already killed for Michael. Fuck, he would even wear the dress if it meant kneeling in front of him. Trevor’s mouth starts to water just thinking about it, like Pavlov’s Dick. 

Fucking. 

Disaster.

There’s slurping sounds. Michael moaning, “Oh _ffffuck_ , Christine, you’re good!” The slurping sounds pick up speed. Christine’s probably drooling all over his thick cock, so much so that She’s practically gargling. Trevor bets she can’t even take it all down her throat. Pfft, amateur. Despite critiquing the performance that he cannot see, he still listens with bated breath. 

There’s a gagging noise. It’s as if Christine heard Trevor’s less-than-stellar review of her skills. Michael moans even louder. “Woah, woah, baby, you’re going to have to slow down if you want this to last.”

Christine coughs out a “sorry” and then resumes sucking. Michael grunts and exhales slowly.

“Get on the bed. On all fours.” Trevor hears him say. There is a darkness to his tone. It’s the same tone Michael uses when he threatens someone. This could get interesting. Trevor tugs at his cock some more in preparation.

There’s a rustling of clothes. Then the telltale sound of a condom packet being ripped open. 

“You ready for me, baby?” Michael asks lowly. Their bed creaks as he gets on it. 

“Yeah,” Christine breathes. There’s the sound of a quick kiss before a gasp that turns into a loud moan.

“Aaand we have liftoff,” Trevor mutters, picking up the pace of his strokes. 

The rhythm of their squeaky (and undoubtedly lumpy) bed is slow at first. “Fuck, you’re tight…” Michael moans. He probably says that to all the girls he sleeps with. _Rote_. 

Christine is moaning with the squeaks of the bed. “And you’re fucking _huuuge_ ,” she gasps. She probably says that to all of her customers or partners or whatever the fuck she is.

“The hugest cock you’ve ever had?” Michael moans. Even when he’s fucking, he needs an ego trip to go right along side it. _Classic_ Townley. 

“Ah-AH! _YES_!” she moans. The squeaks of the bed get louder. 

Trevor wonders what it feels like for Christine. He imagines Michael holding him down and driving his cock deep inside him. Trevor’s cock is just _leaking_ now. He _hates_ that he’s so turned on. He hates that he’s jacking off to the equivalent of scrambled porn he used to watch when he was 14. He’s mad, drunk, high, and horny, and he has to settle for _this_. For all he knows this might be the closest he’ll get to fucking Michael. He grits his teeth, pulling himself away from this moment. And now he’s angry he got distracted. 

Again: Fucking. Disaster.

When he manages to get outside of his head again, he notices the squeaks of the bed have become unbelievably loud. Christine’s practically yelling at this point, begging for it to be harder, harder, h-a-r-d-e-r. There’s the terrible rhythmic sound of flesh smacking against flesh. Michael’s grunting like he’s trying to contain himself, almost like in the back of his mind he feels like Trevor’s listening to him. 

Then the squeaks slow. There’s a shift in the bed. Michael pants out, “Now it’s time for you to ride my cock, gorgeous.” A few kisses. More shifting. A soft gasp from Christine. 

“We’re back on, folks.” Trevor smirks to himself, serving as the world’s worst erotic commentator to no one in particular.

Christine’s movements on Michael’s dick are more deliberate. It sounds like she’s using her hips more, judging by the rocking of the springs. Trevor tries to mimic the rocking with his own hips as he thrusts into his hand. He would have settled with just watching them in the corner of their room if he knew this would have happened, but this will have to do now. 

Trevor jerks his cock a bit more as he imagines riding Michael. He thinks of his face twisting up as he digs his thick fingers into Trevor’s sides. The springs on the mattress start squeaking a lot more. There is a cacophony of moans from the both of them. Trevor has to plan this _just right_ in order to perfect the fantasy. He hawks a loogie into his hand and he focuses most of his attention on his cock. There is _just enough_ of the sensation of his phlegm for him to bring himself closer to the edge.

“Ah! AAAH! fuck, Mich-aelllll~!” Christine screams. The squeaks of their bed are more erratic. Michael has the reins again. His grunts are becoming louder and less stifled. 

Trevor’s almost there. The hand that isn’t on his cock roams all over his skinny body. His hand eventually settles back onto his stomach. He can feel his orgasm build up deep inside him. He imagines what Michael looks like when he cums. He bets he bites his lip to hold in his moans. He thinks about Michael blowing his load into Christine, and Christine feels the warmth inside her, how she feels the cum drip out of her. Trevor imagines eating her out, tasting only Michael's cum, and—and—

“Auuuughhh, _Mikeyyyyyy!!”_ Trevor drags out, way louder than he should have. He doesn’t care. He shoots his load all over his threadbare shirt. 

The squeaking stops suddenly. “Ah ah — what was that?” Christine asks, still panting.

“S’nothing. Don’t worry ‘bout it, beautiful.” Michael says lowly. The squeaking resumes just as quickly as it stopped.

So Trevor was a little early in cumming. Fuck it; he’d been holding that load in his balls for at least two days, delayed gratification be damned. 

Trevor peels off his shirt and wipes up any cum that dripped off of him and tosses it to the side of the bed. It was a considerable load despite the hoops he had to jump through to get there. The moans are continuing in the next room. Christine is squeaking now; if she were to squeak any higher only dogs would be able to hear her. Michael’s grunts are low, scraping the edge of his vocal register. If Trevor had one of those Super Cocks™ only seen in porn, he’d shoot another wad just from M’s grunts. 

Instead, Trevor just continues to lie on the lumpy bed in his naked glory. The waves of his orgasm are washing over him and mixing with the alcohol and the weed. For the first time in a long time, he can’t be bothered by anything. He doesn’t even think about the fact that Michael isn’t thinking of him while he’s with other people, or the fact that he’ll probably never know how Trevor feels about him. 

Somewhere in the waves of pleasure, Trevor can hear Christine climaxing. He assumes it’s the grand finale for her, because her voice is ragged with lust. She’s babbling about how _good_ Mikey is, and how _good_ it feels. _Good, good, good,_ _g-o-o-d!_ When she finally does cum, she lets out a shrill sound that slides down to her normal vocal range. Michael is still thrusting into her. As he reaches toward his orgasm, he grunts out, “Ah, _ahhh_ , baby— _babyyy_ —!” before groaning. His groans are muffled. He’s probably holding onto her tight as they both ride out their orgasms. 

If _only_ Trevor could have finished at the same time as them. If _only_. He tries not to let it eat away at him too much. Instead, he focuses on Michael’s moans before the tides of sleep take him away.

———————

“I heard you last night.” Michael says, watching Trevor over his cup of black coffee.

“…What?” Trevor looks up at him with a mouth full of runny eggs. 

The two of them are eating in a diner near their motel, as it’s the one tradition that they do have. Hit a diner, hit the road, hit up a bank, hit a motel, and so on.

“I _heard_ you.” Michael looks around for any witnesses and leans in closer. “ _Moaning._ ”

Trevor scoffs. “So? Can’t a man jack off in the comfort of his own motel room?”

“Nah, nah, I’m not saying you _can’t_ , it’s just…I coulda sworn you said my name.”

Playing it cool, Trevor averts his eyes from Michael’s. “So, _Mikey_ , what you were saying is that you were focusing on what _I_ was doing instead of shoving your cock into christie?”

Michael turns a bit red. “No, I wasn’t —“ Michael stops to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I’m just saying you were really fuckin’ loud, that’s all.”

Trevor takes a bite of his toast, then, “Ah-ha, oh, you’re one to talk. Your girl last night was practically making all of the wolves howl by her screeches. Surprised I could even jack off, let alone sleep.”

He ignores Trevor’s critique of his one night stand. “…Were you watching a porno or something? Did ya get the TV fixed?” Michael takes a sip from his coffee, trying to keep it casual. 

“Jesus, why are you so curious about what I do? Next time I jack off, I’ll make sure you have front row seats.”

“No need to get defensive. I was curious, is all.” 

“ _Whateeeever_ you say, Mikey.” Trevor takes another stab at his eggs, sincerely hoping Michael will never bring it up again.

———————

Trevor stores every minute detail of that night in his spank bank. He finds distractions in other women and a couple of men, but he doesn’t fuck them. More often than not, he settles for straining his ears to listen to Michael and whatever woman he has for the night. He gets used to the feeling of his hands on his cock rather than leaving the reins to someone else. He staves off of the memory of Michael and Christine for about a month until he looks for something better.

———————

They’re a couple states over in a town that’s much bigger than what they’re used to, but really the only difference is that there’s a strip club and a couple larger clothing stores. It’s the usual thing — celebrating after a considerable score. They hit up a jewelry store about 100 miles away; Trevor just drives and drives and drives, knuckles turning white against the steering wheel while Michael did the shooting. Eventually they lost the heat, and the two of them spent the rest of the car ride practically vibrating with excitement. They end up on the fray of a city.

“Fuck it, T, let’s go to a strip club!” Michael says, grinning ear to ear. Trevor hasn’t seen him this pumped up in quite a while. 

“Your wish is my command, _M_.” Trevor bangs a U turn and heads back towards the glowing _Girls Girls Girls_ sign.

Before going in, they each snort a couple lines in their getaway car. Trevor can feel the molecules in the air and the pumping of his heart. "Tonight will be a good night,” he says to Michael, pupils blown. 

The strip club is surprisingly decent compared to the size of the town. The blaring music rumbles in Trevor’s skull, and the he dim pink lights barely provide enough light for Trevor to move around, so he settles for a booth. Michael is gone, the money from the score probably burning in his pocket. Trevor just sits in the cushy booth, nodding at nothing and staring off into space. The coke coursing through his body and he feels amped up to do anything, and yet he doesn’t know what. A dancer comes up to him and asks for a dance. Trevor continues to nod at her and he jumps to his feet. She leads him to the back room. 

Trevor sits and looks up at her. He appreciates her gyrating, the pink lights playing against her dark skin, but he wants something else. She feels good against his lap, but he doesn’t want _good_. He wants _great, fucking fantastic._ He wants the thrill of something else that doesn’t involve neon lights and half-hearted grinding. Trevor is polite to her and remains there for one song, and he slips her a fifty. She smiles sweetly and returns back to the floor, stuffing the money into her bra.

He finds Michael when he steps back out onto the main floor. He, as usual, is schmoozing with one of the dancers. He lightly touches her arm says something to her in the shrouds of darkness and the music. Assuming he’s asking for a dance, Trevor hurries over to Michael before he’s whisked away.

“Mike, Mike!” Trevor waves his hand out at him. “ I’m gonna leave!”

“Trev, we just got here!” Michael yells back, perplexed. He shoots a quick look at the dancer that says, “This’ll only take a minute.”

“I know, I know — just…enjoy yourself, okay?” Trevor says back to him. He’s not even sure why he’s leaving, or what he wants out of this night. 

Michael grins back, “You don’t have to tell me twice!” He goes back to having his full attention on the dancer. “Sorry ‘bout that, gorgeous.” She giggles lightly in response.

As Trevor starts to walk away, he hears Michael say “Oh! Get a couple of rooms at the motel down the road!”   
  
_A couple_ of rooms _._ _Great_. Fucking _fantastic_. Trevor just raises his hand up to let him know he gets the message. 

———————

The snow is starting to lightly fall. Being the midwest, it’s winter about 8 months a year, so snow is not a novelty. The cold nips at Trevor’s face. Trevor doesn’t mind; he’s Canadian, so he’s used to the temperature being closer to the subzero range. This chill is nothing. Despite that, he pulls his tattered olive-colored jacket around him tighter. The cocaine is starting to wear off. Trevor continues to walk. 

On nights like this, he’d try to find someone or something to torment. Even tonight he’d settle for a homeless man to beat up or some crows to throw bottles at, but no one is around. The town is completely quiet. Trevor is the only one out. It’s almost peaceful, in a way. He looks up at the mauve sky and breathes in the cold air. It’s wonderful, and he _hates_ it. 

He continues to walk down the main street of the town. Even the bars are quiet; only the soft clink of glasses and scarce chatter. The cold air is seeping in through the hole in his right boot, freezing his toes. He pays no mind to the numbness. 

Trevor eventually settles on throwing snowballs at a car. It’s not enough for him, so the snowballs quickly progress to rocks. He shatters all the windows and the car alarm goes off. Trevor runs away, blood pumping in his ears. There isn’t enough snow for his feet to leave any tracks. He sprints all the way to the motel and gets two rooms right next to each other, _just in case._  

Trevor opens the motel room door and immediately kicks off his boots. Stumbling onto the bed, he then holds his frozen toes in his hand as he looks around the room. The motel is a vast improvement from what they normally deal with. Everything smells clean rather than being a time capsule from the 60s. Even the comforter smells rosy and not completely like bodily fluids.

He lets go of his toes and strips down completely. He actually attempts to take a shower, but the eggy well water smells even more off-putting than he does, so he forces the knob back off. He lays naked on his bed, realizing that everything seems all too familiar. He gets up and snorts a line off of the end table. He waits for Michael. 

Michael doesn’t come back, at least not at the usual allotted time. Either he’s just settling for fucking a stripper behind the club (unlikely due to the weather, the pansy), he’s in trouble (nah), or he’s blowing every last dollar on that stripper he was working on when Trevor left the club (definitely). He’s probably paying for dance after dance after dance, in complete awe of her movements. 

Trevor half-heartedly plays with his cock, but he doesn’t feel inspired enough for it to progress to anything. He’s tired of leaving it up to his imagination, especially when it comes to Michael. He wants something tangible, something _real._ He grinds his teeth, wanting more. 

Michael arrives at the motel a couple of hours later. It’s about 2 a.m. at this point. Somewhere in lying in his own self loathing, Trevor had drifted off to sleep. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep, as he was more tired waking up than before he went to bed. He turns on the light and goes to the peephole of his door.

There is a jingle of keys. Two sets of feet crunching in the snow. Trevor can see Michael walk past his door, with his arm wrapped around the dancer he was talking to earlier. “I think this is the one,” Michael slurs. There’s a soft giggle, the same giggle Trevor heard at the club. They escape the view of the peephole, which Trevor groans at. He puts his hand on his dick in preparation for another night of this. Despite his anger, there’s still a thrill to it. It’s an archaic way of getting off, but it’s still what keeps his fantasies going. 

Michael opens up the motel room after struggling in getting it open. Trevor jumps on the bed and presses his ear to the connecting wall. Sloppy kissing noises. “After you, _babe._ ” Michael smacks her ass as she steps into the room, and the door closes and —

Nothing. 

The motel is _too_ nice. the walls are thick and practically fucking sound proof. He can’t hear anything, not even the footsteps or voices or bed squeaks. He strains his ear to try and hear _something_ to go off of in the next room, but nothing. Trevor gets up and kicks the edge of the bed frame in anger, which only fucks up his foot. “F—ffff—FUCK!” he yells out, not even caring if Michael can somehow hear him. 

This was the _one_ thing Trevor wanted out of this night. He should have somehow checked for the thickness of the walls before paying for them. 

His toe is bleeding from kicking the bed and it’s going into the beige carpet. _Who would even using the color beige for_ anything _in a motel?_ Trevor thinks as he wipes his toe further into the carpet. Fuck it. Housekeeping has seen worse. Trevor starts thinking about his other options.

_How long does Mikey usually last? Probably no longer than about 20 minutes, the chump. Especially after getting blue balls for most of the night._

He decides to stay up and wait.

———————

Around 40 minutes later — Michael isn’t as much as a chump as Trevor thinks — and the door to Michael’s motel room opens. Trevor is waiting outside, shoulder resting on the awning over the motel. He’s lighting up a cigarette, the lighter illuminating his tired face. He’s normally not one to smoke cigarettes, but he needs something to come down and keep him warm. 

The stripper steps out with her wool coat wrapped around her and she stops dead in her tracks. Her expression doesn’t falter as she looks at Trevor. She probably doesn’t remember him from earlier in the club. The woman is tall and has tanned skin, with shoulder length dark brown hair. 

“Can I help you?” She asks, voice fragile. 

“Going home?” Trevor grumbles, exhaling a puff of smoke into the cold air. 

“Yeah, it’s fucking late —“

“I got a proposition for you.” Trevor cuts in, reaching into his wallet and pulling out a few crumpled hundred dollar bills. He extends his arm out to her.

The woman’s eyes light up just a little bit. “What do you want?”

“Well — what’s your name?”  
  
“Missy.”

“ _Ooooofff course_ it is. Missy, how about you step into my room for a little bit?”

Missy, after considering his offer for a moment, takes the money from Trevor’s hand. She gives a soft smile. “ I’d be happy to.”

Trevor throws his cigarette into the snow and unlocks his motel room. 

“How good would you say your memory is, Missy?” 

“Pretty good, I guess…” Missy says, throwing off her coat. She’s not in the same outfit as she was earlier, instead she’s in a cozy-looking sweater dress. It’s her “off hours” clothes. 

“Do you remember me from earlier? The guy who came up to Mikey to say he was leaving?” Trevor asks as he takes off his jacket and shoes. 

“I guess so. You weren’t looking for a dance, and I was working, so —“ She sits down on the edge of the bed awkwardly.

“So I didn’t really fucking matter, is what you’re saying.” He starts to pace in front of her.

“Pretty much.” 

“Ah, but that’s besides the point. Anyway, you fucked Michael.”  
  
Missy is taken aback. “What?”

Trevor stops pacing and stands right in front of her. “Michael, the washed-up chubby jock whose room you just stepped out of?” He gestures over to the connecting wall.  
  
She laughs nervously. “I mean, I did, but what’s it to you?”

Trevor takes off his shirt, revealing his bruised body to her. She looks him up and down. “How’d it happen?” 

“What do you mean? We just…had sex. I don’t really know what to tell you —“  
  
“Tell me _everything_. I didn’t give you that money for you to tell me something I already fuckin’ know.” Trevor gets close to her. “Show me what he did to you.”  
  
Missy seems to connect the dots as to what’s going on. She stands up and walks to the door.

“Well…I went into the room, and he smacked my ass —“ 

Trevor gets behind her and gives her an open-palmed smack. “Like _this_?”

Missy gasps in surprise. “Yes—! Like that! Then he kissed me.”

Trevor pulls her lips to his and greedily kisses her in the way Michael probably would. She reciprocates, and for a split second Trevor can imagine she’s Michael. Or, rather, Michael with smeared lipstick. Whatever can get him there.

They pull away, breathing heavily. “Then what?” Trevor pants.

“He asked how good I am at sucking cock. I said, ‘baby, I’m the best.’ And then he just grinned and unzipped his pants.” She’s taking off her sweater dress now, revealing her work outfit from the club.

Trevor’s rubbing his cock through his jeans. “Well, are you the best?”   
  
She kneels in front of him and smiles. “ _Michael_ certainly thought so.” Trevor groans and unzips his pants for her. She takes his half-hard cock into her mouth. 

“ _Mmmm_ ,” Trevor moans, “What’s his cock like?”

“ _Huuuge_ ,” She looks up at Trevor, his cock in her hand. She absentmindedly strokes him and she sighs out, “One of the biggest I’ve seen in a while. Niiice and thick.”

_So Christine wasn’t lying when she said that. Or was she?_ Trevor thought. He can feel himself get fully hard in her mouth. She moans accordingly. 

“How do I know you’re not lyin’?” He looks down at Missy. 

His cock falls out of her mouth as she looks back up at him. “With how much you paid me, what’s the point in lying?”

Trevor seems to accept that. “Fair enough.” 

She sinks back down onto his cock. She is pretty good, and of _course_ Michael would love it. It’s practiced and exactly what anyone with a cock would want. She didn’t tailor her technique to any one cock. Something about it all feels a little too manufactured. To prevent Trevor from critiquing too much, he thinks about how his cock and Michael's cock have been in the same mouth in the span of less than an hour.

“ _Mmmm_ ,” Trevor rests his hands on top of her head. “Is he cut?”  
  
Missy just makes a noise to supply as an answer. She shakes her head a little. “Hmm-mm.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Trevor groans out. “What happened after you sucked his cock?”

Missy stands up. “Well, he pushed me onto the bed—“ And Trevor does, maybe a little too roughly. “ _Ahh_! And then he ate me out.” 

“So, was Mikey on a power trip? Did he call all the shots?” Trevor asks her, absentmindedly stroking his slick cock.

Missy rests on her forearms and looks at him. “Yeah, actually…I’m sure he’s like that all the time?"

He kneels down and drags her tan legs over the end of the bed. He rests them on his shoulders. “Honey, you don’t even _know._ ” He moves her silky underwear to the side and he starts gently licking her clit. He presses his tongue down harder, licking circles around her. She starts to moan softly. Her hands run through Trevor’s shaggy hair. He holds onto her soft thighs even tighter, and lifts her off the bed. He’s continuing to press down against her pussy, and she’s moaning even more. He can’t get enough of how she tastes. She tastes like remnants of sex, Michael, sweat, and body oil. It’s _intoxicating_. He goes and goes and goes until she is practically crushing his head between her thighs. Her moans are full bodied, not shrill like Christine’s. When she does cum, there’s a second of silence until she lets out a long exasperated moan. 

Trevor slowly puts her back down onto the bed and comes up for air. She’s still panting. He rests his head on the dip of her hipbone and watches her. “Did he do it like _that_?” 

She laughs lightly. “No, no,“ —She takes another gasp — “not even close.” 

“You don’t taste like latex.” Trevor points out. He’s back to stroking his cock to retain the hardness. 

“No, Michael — he paid me extra so he didn’t have to wear one. I’m on the pill.” Missy takes off her underwear and scoots up the bed.

That’s not what Trevor is concerned about, but he doesn’t say anything to her. “Where’d he cum on you?”

“You’ll find out when it’s time.” Missy smirks. He didn’t pay for slyness, but he’s too ready to go to even retort. 

“How’d he fuck you?” Trevor asks lowly. He makes his way onto the bed. 

Missy doesn’t break eye contact with him. “Missionary.”

He grins. Of _course_. “Missy in missionary, o- _kay_.”

“Only for a little bit, just to get warmed up. Then we did cowgirl and a little bit of doggy.” She clarifies. Trevor lines his hips up over her, and he easily slides all the way inside her.

“ _Oh fuck,_ ” Trevor breathes out, “That’s nice…” it had been a while since he’d been inside anyone. Maybe three weeks? A _month_? Either way, it’s nice to feel that warmth, no matter who it is. The fact that he’s fucking Michael’s sloppy seconds makes it _great_ , fucking _fantastic._  

After getting used to the sensation (did he almost _forget_ how it felt?), Trevor looks at her. Her eyes are closed and her hitches every time he thrusts all the way in. “How’d his cock feel inside you?” he asks, resting his forehead against the crook of her neck. 

“ _Amazing_ ,” Missy moans out, “He filled me up completely.” Trevor grunts lowly in response. He breathes her in. He can smell the cologne that Michael insists on wearing. It fills him with a nostalgia of something that hasn’t happened yet. He licks her neck to take in all of it, all of _him._

“How were his thrusts?” Trevor’s voice is muffled against her neck.

“Rough. Dominant.” Missy whispers, as if she doesn’t want the gentleness to end so soon.

“Like _this_?” Trevor asks, punctuating his question with slamming his hips into hers. She almost yelps. 

“ _Ahhh_! Yes! Just like that!” She wraps her legs tighter around him. Trevor shuts his eyes to imagine Michael pounding this hard into him, which only increases the sensation. The room fills with the sound of him pounding her. He keeps this pace until she tightens up around him. Trevor slows down his pace so he doesn’t finish too soon.

“Tell me what else he did to you. Tell me _everything._ ” Trevor grits out, still feeling the tightness around his length.

“He—he—he kissed my neck and talked dirty to me.” She was still coming down from her orgasm. 

By dirty talk, she probably means standard porn dialogue. Trevor tries to imitate it. “Fuck, baby, you’re so tight —“ he plants wet kisses all on her neck and her collarbone —“You feel so fucking good around my _cock_ …shit like that?”

She laughs. “Yeah. I guess you know him pretty well.”

“Heh, unfortunately.” Trevor pulls out and lays back on the bed. He thinks back to when Michael fucked Christine. “Now it’s time for you to ride my cock, gorgeous.”

Missy straddles him. “He said that too,” she mutters, lowering herself onto his cock. She started slowly on him, getting used to him and this angle. 

“What’d he do in this position?” Trevor asked eagerly. 

“Well—“ Missy takes off her bra, revealing her round tits.  _Too round._ Mikey loves the fakes. Trevor’s hands immediately grab onto them as she rocks against him. He takes her nipples into his fingers and teases them, then he tries to sit up and put his mouth to them.  
  
“Ah, ah. He didn’t do that.” Missy presses her palm firmly against his chest, pushing him back down. 

“ _Okay_ ,” Trevor says in an annoyed tone, “What _did_ he do?”

She rolls her hips slowly. “He got tired of my pace and he took control.”

“Oh _yeah_?” Trevor groans and he digs his fingers into her hips, thrusting up into her. He drastically picks up the pace and she starts to bounce on top of him. She’s moaning with each thrust. Her tits don’t move an inch, but it’s still quite a sight to see. 

“ _Hit me_!” Trevor grunts out. Missy doesn’t even give it a second thought to say that Michael didn’t ask for that. She slaps him roughly across the face, her rings scraping his skin. It feels _great,_ fucking _fantastic._ “ _Again!_ ” She complies, this time even harder. “Ah—fuck! M!” His initial slips out and Trevor is barely aware of it. He can’t keep up the pace of his thrusts much longer. He needs release.

“How’d — where’d he cum —on you?” Trevor strains out.

“My tits—!” She breathes out. He pulls out and pushes her back onto the bed. Rather than cumming on her tits, he sucks on them to get any lasting hint of Michael’s cum on her. Faintly, or maybe it’s his imagination, he can taste Michael. He can’t hold off any more. He jerks himself off, spilling cum onto Missy’s stomach. “Fuck, fff—UCK! _Mich-aaaeeelllll!”_ He slips into the abyss for only a split second. He can feel himself fall back off of Missy. He doesn’t know what time it is and he doesn’t care. He feels so…peaceful.

Missy already got up to clean off. Trevor is lying on his back, still holding onto his softening cock. He hears the toilet flush and Missy comes out, running her fingers through her hair. Trevor wipes his cum-soaked hand against the edge of the bed and rummages through his pockets, pulling out another hundred dollar bill. 

Missy gives him a perplexed look. “What now?”

“You up for holding me?”

———————

The next morning, Trevor is awoken by a series of erratic knocks on the door. He’s smothered between Missy’s fake tits, with his arms wrapped around her stomach. Trevor is too tired and comfortable to get up; he wants to die like this.

The knocks get louder. “T, it’s me. We hafta go, come on!” 

He slips out of the comfort of Missy’s tits and hops into his tattered underwear. He opens the door a little too quickly, and Michael jumps back a bit. “The fuck’s your problem?” Trevor groans out.

Michael clenches his jaw in annoyance. “S’about time you woke up. C’mon, I got the car heating up. We’re heading west towards —“ he looks past Trevor and sees Missy sleeping in the bed. “Oh,” is all Michael lets out.

Trevor walks away from Michael in order to prevent him breaching the subject. Missy wakes up after Trevor shakes her a few times. She looks a little startled to see both Trevor and Michael in the same room. “Sorry sweetheart, but ya gotta leave. T and I are hittin’ the road.” Michael explains.

Missy darts her eyes at both of them and quickly gets dressed to prevent any awkward conversations. After bundling up, she nods at the two of them and hurriedly leaves the room. Trevor and Michael leave the motel soon afterwards.

———————

The car ride is silent for the first half hour. Michael flips through the radio stations, but nothing good is on to mask the uncomfortable tension. They don’t even stop for their typical diner experience to talk about their night. Trevor is just now starting to wake up, but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to deal with all of Michael’s questions. Trevor decides to start.

“So…fun night last night, eh Mikey?”

“Hah, T, I could ask you the same thing. Where’d you go after you left the strip club?”

Trevor looks out the window. “Out.”

Michael scoffs, “Oh yeah, that’s specific.”

“Why do you care?”

“Jus’ makin’ conversation.”

There’s a moment where the two of them fall silent, listening to the cars passing by them.

Trevor sighs. “I didn’t do anything in particular. Threw some rocks at a car, the usual.”

“You had some fun with Missy.I’d say that’s something particular.”

“No, no, she was ‘something particular’ for your night. I wasn’t the one feeding her drinks and spending all of the money from the score on her dances. She was my fun for the morning.”

“Well, T, you told me to enjoy myself.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean spend every last cent on strippers.”

“Hey, hey, you’re the one who got my sloppy seconds. You didn’t hafta fuck her.”

Trevor just shrugs. “She was there. I was restless. We had a good time.”

Michael smirks. “Surprised she even had enough energy to deal with you after I was through with her.” 

“Oh _yeah_ , forty minutes is so much time. Real tough for her.”

“Nice to know you were timing me, T.”

“Well, y’know, I gotta know I can do better than you at longevity.” Trevor says back, ignoring the fact that he couldn’t replicate the entirety of Michael’s session with Missy.

Michael laughs humorlessly. “O- _kay_ , Trev. Whatever helps you get off.”

Trevor continues to look out the window. 

“You sure you didn’t get in a fight or somethin’? Your face is all fucked up.”

“That Missy’s a fun girl, huh, M? Very…compliant.”

“You paid her to hit you? Fuck T, I could have done that for free.”

Trevor laughs slightly. “If only I knew that before paying her.”

“Keep it in mind for next time.” Michael smiles back at Trevor briefly before looking back at the road. Trevor can’t help but feel his cheeks get warm.

And so they speed off across the state, ready to start another heist. 

 


End file.
